this tended.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, "but hadn't you better----"

"Plenty of time, my dear. Maitland has gone to Greenfields and we've
several hours before us.... Look here, little woman, why don't you take
a tumble to yourself, cut out all this nonsense, and look to your own
interests?"

"I don't understand you," she faltered, "but if----"

"I'm talking about this Maitland affair. Cut it out and forget it. You're
too good-looking and valuable to yourself to lose your head just all on
account of a little moonlight flirtation with a good-looking millionaire.
You don't suppose for an instant that there's anything in it for yours, do
you? You're nothing to Maitland--just an incident; next time he meets you,
the baby-stare for yours. You can thank your lucky stars he happened to
have a reputation to sustain as a village cut-up, a gay, sad dog, always
out for a good time and hang the expense!--otherwise he'd have handed you
yours without a moment's hesitation. I'm not doing this up in tin-foil and
tying a violet ribbon with tassels on it, but I'm handing it straight to
you: something you don't want to forget.... You just sink your hooks in
the fact that you're nothing to Maitland and that he's nothing to you, and
never will be, and you won't lose anything--except illusions."

She remained quiescent for a little, hands twitching in her lap, torn by
conflicting emotions--fear of and aversion for the man, amusement, chill
horror bred of the knowledge that he was voicing the truth about her, the
truth, at least, as he saw it, and--and as Maitland would see it.